


Training Day

by Eline (Sans_Souci)



Category: Enzai: Falsely Accused
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Boot Worship, Guys may not be eighteen here, M/M, Non Consensual, Pain, Prison Sex, Punishment, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-11
Updated: 2007-01-11
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Eline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Durer needs his boots cleaned. Now. Smutty and abusive Durer/Guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Day

**Author's Note:**

> For flaxen_and_fire, who wants more Durer/Guys in the fandom, because there isn’t enough of it. (There really isn’t very much Durer/Guys despite it being inescapable in the game.) Durer/Guys cannot, canonically speaking, end in anything other than extremely embarrassing (for Guys) no-holds-barred graphic sex. “Not another sex scene—surely this crazy fangirl has written enough of them?!” is probably what you’re thinking right now. The gutter of my mind is a productive little cesspit.

* * * * * * * * * *

Straightening up, Guys threw another shoe into the box. His efforts merely yielded mediocre footwear that just might fit someone with deformed feet. His back ached after long hours at the workbench and he was dying for some fresh air.

The clock above the doorway indicated that he had two hours more before the end of his shift in the workshop. _Wonderful._

Nursing his much abused thumb, he picked up the next shoe and caught sight of Durer entering the room. He could see the change instantaneously. The guards on duty stood at attention a little more stiffly than normal. The prisoners in the workshop hunched a little lower over their shoes and the entire room soon comprised of grown men trying very hard to be invisible.

Durer looked to be in a foul mood. Guys gulped and ducked his head lower as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

_Don’t look up--don’t look up. Maybe he’s just on his rounds . . ._

“Oi, Guys!” A gloved hand collared him and pulled him upright. “Just the person for the job.”

_Fuck._

“I need my boots polished before six. Official functions are such a pain. I’ll take the brat--he can’t possibly be worse at it than making shoes,” Durer said offhandedly to the guard on duty. The guard saluted nervously as Durer left with Guys trailing in his wake. One could practically feel the unvoiced sigh of relief that arose from everyone else. 

In Durer’s quarters, half a dozen pairs of boots had been lined up against one wall. 

“Here. I want all of them cleaned and polished by dinnertime,” Durer barked. “I’ll need at least one pair by this evening and the rest for the silly official visits next week. And don’t you dare skive off--I want to be able to see my face in them!”

Guys watched Durer stomp off and sighed. Boot polishing was just one very small step up from making shoes. It was not as though Guys had not, at one point or another, polished boots to earn a few extra coins for sweets, but these were _Durer’s_ boots and he would probably kill Guys if he did less than a perfect job on them. Guys’ natural inclination in matters like this would have been to place tacks in Durer’s boots. Well, a boy could always day-dream.

An hour and a lot of boot polish later, Guys could practically see his tired face in the smooth surface of the knee-high boots. He had buffed the leather industriously, polished the heels and cleaned the soles until they looked brand new.

Durer came back just as he was arranging the boots back along the walls. Guys hoped that Durer would be so busy that he would be let off early.

“Done already? Hmmmm.” Durer inspected the boots carefully, lifting each one and turning them over. Guys wondered what kind of sick game was playing at now.

“You missed a spot!” Durer said, holding up the offending boot triumphantly.

Guys was certain that that scruff had not been there before, but to argue the point with Durer would be a mistake.

“I’ll clean it again--” Guys began.

“You’d better,” Durer threatened. But his scowl turned into the smirk that Guys had learned to dread. “I have a better idea. You can polish the boots I’m wearing now first.”

Guys looked down at Durer’s boots. The head guard’s rounds took him through most of the prison and Durer’s habit of hanging around the least pleasant parts had not improved the state of his footwear. 

Kneeling down gingerly, Guys reached for the polishing cloth and was startled by Durer’s boot coming down on his hand. 

“Not like that. Clean it with your tongue!”

The pressure on his hand told Guys just what was coming if he did not get to it right away. Durer’s boots were _made_ for kicking and stomping inmates. Whimpering slightly at the pain, he bent to apply his tongue to Durer’s boot.

Guys tried not to think about the . . . stuff on Durer’s boot. The things that the head guard did to entertain himself did not lend themselves to pleasant thoughts. Under the grime and dirt, there was more boot polish. Soon, he was licking off the polish from the boot.

Boot polish tasted horrible. If Guys had to name the most disgusting-tasting things had had ever put in his mouth, boot polish would rank a close second. Right up there with Durer’s piss. But at least it overpowered the taste of everything else. Guy’s tongue ran over the toe of the boot as he concentrated. The pain of Durer’s heel on his other hand was a distraction and it came as a relief when Durer finally lifted his boot--so that Guys could clean it. 

Durer’s boots went all the way up to the knee. Guys thought his tongue might drop off before he finished with the second boot. He desperately wanted a drink of water, but even that might not help. His tongue was coated with the awful stuff--it was probably black with all the polish he had licked off. 

“Not bad, brat,” Durer commented from somewhere above him. Guys looked up and almost swallowed his polish-coated tongue. Durer had been whacking off while he had been polishing his boot. Honestly, why was he even surprised anymore?

Guys’ knees and calves were cramped from kneeling for so long. He would have made a spirited attempt to run for it, but Durer had taken the precaution of closing and locking the door. Apparently he was not so busy that he could not indulge in one of his favourite pastimes.

A firm hand gripped Guys’ collar and hauled him to his feet. “Get your trousers off,” Durer said with a leer. 

Guys could see the print of Durer’s heel on the back of his hand as he shakily undid his belt and trousers. Dragged backwards to lean against guard, Guys could feel the hard shape of Durer’s prick prodding him in the buttocks.

“Spread your legs--yes. Wider.” Durer assisted in this action with his thigh. Guys could barely even keep his balance without Durer’s grip on his collar. No matter how many times Durer had done it to him, Guys always felt like a terrified mouse in the claws of a particularly vicious cat. No matter how many times he told himself that he would be a man about it, he was reduced to a mass of quivering jelly in front of Durer.

“No,” Guys whimpered involuntarily as the head of Durer’s dick pressed up against his ass. 

“What was that? Was that a ‘yes, please, ram it up my ass hard, sir’ that I heard?” Durer purred into Guys’ ear. Guys could only bite his lip to suppress a scream as he was stretched open and penetrated. His ass burned as Durer pushed his way in--it always hurt because Durer did not care if his victims could walk afterwards.

“Ah, that’s a good tight hole,” Durer sighed in pleasure, pushing Guys down so that he could brace himself on the floor with his hands. Without preamble, Durer grasped Guys’ hips and started to pump into him.

“Urguuuh!” Guys thought his ass was going to be torn open by Durer’s ungentle ministrations. His hips were pulled back and pushed forwards in time to Durer’s movements and he could do nothing but balance himself as well as he could against the floor. If Durer should let go, he would topple forward.

The pain faded into the background after a while--or perhaps he had gone numb--as Durer pounded into him without mercy.

“Does that feel good?” Durer asked him, reaching down between his legs to fondle Guys’ cock.

Guys could only gasp as his member was roughly stimulated. The worst part was that he was actually responding to it. The stroking hand combined with the pressure in his ass was making him hard.

“Do you want some more?” Durer teased as he slammed his dick deeper into Guys.

“Ahhh!” Guys panted in time to Durer’s thrusts, unable to form a coherent reply. His wits had been addled by the addictive mix of pleasure and pain.

“Eh, I’ll let you off just once this time,” Durer said generously and continued to pound into Guys until he spent himself in the boy’s ass.

Guys whimpered again as Durer pulled out, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor. He was still hard and sweaty from the sex with his breaths coming out in short pants. Guys really wanted to get off, but he was wary of doing anything without Durer’s permission. 

“You look like a bitch in heat,” Durer laughed, nudging Guys with his recently-licked boot. Guys instinctively leaned away and Durer insinuated his foot between his thighs. “There--why don’ you get off like the mutt you are? Eh?”

The leather of his boots rubbed against Guys’ erection and he groaned in lust and despair. Another nudge caused his balls to shake. Guys bowed his head in shame as he started to rub up against Durer’s boot like a horny dog.

“Oh my, you really are a bitch!” Durer said mockingly. He pushed his foot between Guys’ ass cheeks so that the toe of his boot touched his recently dilated and still dripping hole. The sensation was both arousing and painful to Guys as he tried to generate enough friction to get himself off.

“Uhh—ugh!” Guys moaned again as his balls rubbed against the boot. He ground against Durer’s leg, mindlessly seeking his release. He would be ashamed of himself--later, much later. His hips moved faster and he buried his cry against Durer’s uniformed hip as he came. 

“What do you say?” Durer said in a mocking parody of a school teacher.

“Thank you, sir,” Guys mumbled as he looked down at the floor.

“But you’ve dirtied my boots again,” Durer said with an unpleasant sneer. He pushed Guys off his leg roughly and pointed at the traces of semen that had Guys had left on his boots. “Clean them again, brat!”

It looked like it was going to be a very long evening . . .

* * * * * * * * * *


End file.
